The Beckett and Mercer Holiday Special
by Sat-Isis
Summary: Beckett celebrates Christmas and Mercer celebrates the Festival of Lights and somebody's gonna die.


Notes: The _sevivon_ is more commonly known as the dreidel, but because my Mercer is an English Jew he uses the Hebrew term as he does not know Yiddish. Believe me, I'm just as surprised about a "RomCom" Meckett fic as you are...

Christmas Eve had passed into Christmas Morning a few hours ago, and though all the guests had retired after a sumptuous feast, Beckett was holding court in his bedroom parlor with his clerk. They sat at a small table close to the inglenook and sacrilegiously discussed business. What made it more sacrilegious was that the business was murder.

Mercer, nibbling on cheese and sipping wine, spun his _sevivon_ on the tabletop and Beckett watched it eagerly. The top slowed, stumbled, and finally halted.

"_Nun_," Mercer announced. Beckett chewed his suckling pig in thought. He had only first learned this game a few days ago and the Hebrew was still a muddle. Clearing his throat, he asked,

"What does that mean again? 'Nothing' or 'Take'?"

"We are talking about Deerfield, Sir," Mercer replied. Beckett nodded,

"'Take' it is then." They changed the rules of the game to suit their own purpose, as though the wee hours of the holy day were not sacrilegious enough. Deerfield would be met with an unfortunate accident on the fox hunt planned for Boxing Day.

Their business concluded, Mercer passed the _sevivon_ to Beckett and they settled into an earnest game where they wagered pecans. Mercer was winning and rather smug about. Beckett began to pout, but stopped when he realized it only galvanized Mercer.

"My, my, Mr. Mercer, this suckling pig is quite good. Cook has outdone himself, you simply must have a taste," Beckett dangled the gelatinous pig meat from his fork in Mercer's face. Leaning back, Mercer's face twisted up in disgust and he lost his hold on the _sevivon_ so that it skittered off the table.

"No, thank you, Sir," he said from under the table as he retrieved the top. Beckett smiled mischievously, quite pleased with his scheme.

"Just a little taste, a lick will do," he continued to tempt Mercer to no effect.

"I will not, Sir," Mercer remained so steadfast in his refusal that Beckett thought perhaps the man had a genuine dislike of pig's meat.

"Do tell me why you refuse even a whiff of this delectable piglet," Beckett inquired.

"Pigs are filthy animals, Sir," Mercer replied.

"Oh? And why is that, Mr. Mercer?" Beckett popped the meat of the suckling pig into his mouth and fully expected a quotation from scripture on the strange dietary laws of the Jews. He found it curious that Mercer had no qualm about finishing business on the Sabbath, but balked at the sacrilege of eating pork. Then Mercer gob smacked him:

"They shit where they eat. Sir."

Beckett was silent and utterly still for a moment. Mercer blinked. Beckett swallowed harshly, took a breath, and then burst out in hysterical laughter. Mercer spun the _sevivon_ on the tabletop again and sipped his wine and nibbled his cheese.

"Oh, David," Cutler said when he was able to catch his breath, "what am I going to do with you?" Mercer handed Beckett the top, their fingers brushed, they were about to find out.

"_Gimel_," Mercer called out when the _sevivon_ tumbled to a stop. Beckett chewed his lower lip. It could mean "all" or "give" based on the overall context of the game, but then the precedence had been set to suit the rules to his ends. Their eyes met across the table and Mercer handed Beckett the remainder of his wine. Beckett drank the pollution from his mouth and wiped his lips with a napkin.

Each man rose from the table at the same time and rounded it towards each other. Mercer reached out first and grasped the collar of Beckett's dressing gown and wrenched him closer, brutalizing his lips with a kiss. Beckett grasped the shirt and wrenched it up from the front of Mercer's breeches.

A burst of strength and Beckett was thrown over Mercer's shoulder. He took the opportunity to grasp the back of Mercer's shirt and pull it from his breeches. Beckett laid his palms on Mercer's buttocks and squeezed through the fabric.

Mercer had reached the bed and tipped forward, an arm under Beckett's knees and as he swung off his shoulder the other arm was ready and supported Beckett's back while the hand cradled his nape. He tossed Beckett onto the bed and, pulling his shirt above his knees, Mercer jumped the footboard and landed on all fours at the foot of the bed. Beckett scooted up as Mercer advanced on him, his hands coming up around Beckett's head and sliding his wig off.


End file.
